


Anything You Say Can And Will Be Held Against You

by kissesfromkrug



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mild D/S elements, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: It wasn't easy to get Mitch there (it never is; Mitch is one of the most stubborn people he knows), but once he finally did, Dylan felt like a king; feels like one every damn time.





	Anything You Say Can And Will Be Held Against You

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Title taken from "Just One Yesterday" by FOB, my favs.
> 
> (Warning in the end notes.)

"Yeah?" Dylan says, pushing on Mitch's shoulder to get him flat on his back. "You wanna?"

"Fuck, yeah," Mitch grins, eager as ever.

"You sure?" Mitch tugs at the bottom of Dylan's shirt and makes a protesting noise when Dylan doesn't try to take it off.

"What do you think?" Mitch huffs, leaning up for a kiss and getting a nip on the tongue.

"Don't be sassy, babe," Dylan says, knees on either side of Mitch's waist as he slowly runs his hands down his bare chest. "Just wait."

"Don't _wanna_ wait," Mitch protests, trying to tug at Dylan's shirt again, squeaking embarrassingly as Dylan thumbs over his nipple and twists.

"Don't bitch about it unless you don't wanna come tonight," Dylan warns, leaning down to mouth at Mitch's neck. "I wouldn't risk it." He reaches down and tucks his fingers in Mitch's waistband, tugging his sweats down a few inches as he works on a hickey on Mitch's chest.

He drinks in the feeling of Mitch's lithe body pressed to his, hands roaming every inch of bare skin available as Mitch squirms in impatience. He's all tightly wound muscle free to mark up, pale from a long season spent indoors and still hyped from their playoff run. Dylan really, _really_ wants to mark him up.

He grazes his teeth over Mitch's nipple, loving how sensitive he is there as Mitch whines. He bites at a spot right below it, sucking to make it last as he creates a purple mouth-shaped mark. Mitch is _his_.

"Fuck, Dyls," Mitch says, already a little short of breath as his fingers dig into Dylan's back. "C'mon, get all this shit off."

"I'll take it off when I want it off," Dylan says slowly, letting the words really sink in as he pulls back and pulls Mitch's sweatpants down to his knees. He leans forward as Mitch clumsily kicks them onto the floor, kissing Dylan deeply with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Dylan tries to keep it as sweet as possible, but Mitch's tongue kind of makes that impossible.

"C'mon, you fucker," Mitch says when he pulls back, frustration creeping into his voice. "You can do better than that." Dylan lets out a soft exhale, knowing that Mitch is baiting him into making this fast and hot and heavy. He won't fall for it.

"You can wait, can't you?" Dylan says, and Mitch pouts. He doesn't answer, trying to pull Dylan into another kiss. "Can't you?"

"'Course I can," Mitch scoffs, "You can make it good, can't you? Doesn't seem like you're doing much." Dylan ignores Mitch's hands at the hem of his shirt and leans down to kiss from the base of his neck down his chest, hands holding Mitch's narrow hips tightly to keep him from getting his way.

Mitch likes getting pinned down a whole fucking lot, even though he's kind of into holding Dylan down every now and again. Dylan remembers the first time he forced Mitch down on his knees in front of him. Mitch came in his pants while sucking Dylan off, and it was one of the first of many occasions in which Mitch, knowing he'd eventually get a damn good orgasm out of it, would listen to Dylan's commands.

It wasn't easy to get Mitch there (it never is; Mitch is one of the most stubborn people he knows), but once he finally did, Dylan felt like a king; feels like one every damn time.

"You gonna shut your mouth?"

"Fuck no, you like this," Mitch grins, letting out a gasp as Dylan lightly palms him over his boxers. "C'mon, Stromer, I'm not impressed."

"You gonna shut your mouth or am I gonna have to make you?" Dylan asks in a firmer voice before he bites Mitch's side, and Mitch laughs breathily.

"Why would I listen to you when I can do this?" He says, and Dylan looks up from where his face hovers over Mitch's stomach.

"Do what?" He asks, and Mitch only smirks, knees him in the side, and flips them over so Dylan's on his back in the middle of the mattress. "Fuck, don't - c'mon, Marns," Dylan says, grappling with Mitch and failing to get out from under him. Half of the reason may or may not be the fact that he might like it. _Might_.

"Don't lie," Mitch grins, pushing up Dylan's shirt and trailing his tongue up Dylan's side before nipping at it, just like Dylan had done to him. "You know you love it."

"No," Dylan says stubbornly, fisting a hand in Mitch's soft hair and tugging him up. "It's my turn."

"Nah," Mitch says lightly, adjusting his knees to situate themselves around Dylan's waist and rubbing his hands up and down Dylan's chest under his shirt. "I like my ideas better."

"You don't even know what mine were," Dylan says, yelping and yanking Mitch's hair as Mitch bites down on his nipple. "Fuck you-"

"Was that part of your plan?" Mitch asks curiously, rubbing over the affected area, then biting the other in similar fashion. Dylan squirms and shoves at Mitch's chest half-heartedly, but Mitch only smiles down at him. "Huh? You were gonna push me on my face and fuck me?"

"No," Dylan lies through a mumble, finally getting his free hand around Mitch's neck and dragging him down into a kiss full of teeth and tongue. He tilts his head to get a better angle, Mitch shuddering as Dylan takes his lower lip between his teeth and tugs, then laving over it to hear Mitch sigh.

"It totally was," Mitch says, grinning smugly once he releases himself. He's a little starry-eyed, however, and Dylan reaches around with the hand that was in his hair to grab at his ass. "My god, you're so predictable."

"You gonna let me have my way with you?" Dylan asks lowly, trying to seduce Mitch into obeying him. He stares up at Mitch with the darkest expression of lust he can muster, but Mitch just isn't having it.

"You think that's how tonight's gonna go?" Mitch shoots back, almost incredulous, finally forcing Dylan's shirt up and over his shoulders.

"Yeah, I kinda do," Dylan says loftily, trying to ignore Mitch's playful fingertips tickling his sides.

"Bullshit," Mitch says, but the protest is a little weaker. He knows he'd let Dylan do anything to him given the chance, and that thought alone gives Dylan an even stronger rush of adrenaline. "I'm not gonna let you-"

"You know you love it," Dylan repeats right back at Mitch, smirking at him from the bottom, where he's gone still. "You know you do. You'd let me do anything I wanted."

Mitch's will is faltering as he shakes his head, and Dylan runs his hand up Mitch's spine, then back down to clutch Mitch's ass. This time, Mitch's hips jolt forward, and Dylan feels a sense of satisfaction at the sight of Mitch's dick, hard in his boxers. "No, it's my turn."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," Mitch breathes, "Yeah, I _know_ so."

"What the fuck gave you that idea?" Dylan challenges, breath catching as Mitch sucks at the sensitive spot under his jaw. "Fuck, Marns, I'm trying-"

"You know it," Mitch says mindlessly, licking over the new mark. He thumbs open the button to Dylan's tight ripped jeans, which - who gave him the genius idea to wear something so inconvenient?

Thanks, Connor.

Dylan tries to shove them down, but Mitch smacks away his hands and does it only with the help of Dylan's hips, fingers lightly trailing over his ankles before he tosses the jeans onto the ground. Dylan watches him intently, flexing his fingers as he waits for Mitch. "Still my turn," he says when Mitch comes back up, but Mitch only smirks devilishly and grinds his hips down hard.

Dylan clenches his jaw at the feeling of Mitch's lips along the column of his neck, mixed with some teeth as he continues the torturously slow movements of his hips.

"You don't seem to be hating this too much," Mitch says in a self-satisfied tone, dancing his fingers just under the waistband of Dylan's boxers. "Want me to do something about this?" He slides - his _fucking fingers_ , holy shit - he slides them over Dylan's cock on the outside of his underwear and squeezes it lightly, and Dylan resists the urge to thrash around helplessly.

"If you're gonna do something, you better do it now," he says, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. By the look on Mitch's face, he failed miserably. The "now" part didn't help his case, either.

"You're this needy already, babe?" Mitch laughs, squeezing him again.

Dylan hisses through his teeth but doesn't answer. Mitch only shrugs and pulls down Dylan's boxers just enough that he can actually get a hand around Dylan's cock.

"This good enough?" Mitch asks innocently, stroking it with a loose grip as Dylan bites back choked curses.

"Shut up, shut up-" Dylan huffs, chest heaving as Mitch trails a line of firm kisses up it to his neck, then to the already-darkening hickey. He nudges Dylan's head to turn the other way, and Dylan merely lets Mitch do it, groaning softly as he bites another mark under Dylan's jaw. He traces the shell of Dylan's ear with his lips, and yup, erogenous zone number four is now located.

"You gonna make me?" Mitch challenges after pulling back, and if that isn't one of the most suggestive sentences in the universe, Dylan doesn't know what is.

"Suck me off," he gets out, shifting his hips up towards Mitch's mouth, which is now only inches away. Mitch ducks away, smirking at Dylan's surprised and mock-hurt expression. "Come _on_ , you told me to make you."

"Gotta try harder than that," Mitch teases, and Dylan makes an animalistic noise from deep in his throat. Mitch's blue eyes widen dramatically at the sound, and Dylan takes the moment to grab onto Mitch's hair again and force his mouth down.

"Suck me off," he repeats. Mitch stares him down, looking up through his dark eyelashes as a silent challenge. Silent? Mitch? Dylan didn't think those words could ever fit in a sentence like this.

" _Make me_." Dylan tugs hard on Mitch's hair, bringing him into a brutal kiss as he grinds his dick up into the cut of Mitch's hip.

"Oh, I'll fucking make you," Dylan growls into his mouth, sliding a hand around and dipping it into the back of Mitch's boxers. "I could make you get on your knees for me - in front of your entire team," he says. "You'd like that." Mitch's cheeks flare red as he wriggles around a bit, and Dylan smirks victoriously.

He's always wanted to exploit Mitch's secret exhibitionist streak.

"I could fuck you for hours and hours and plug you up if I wanted to, I could blow you till you came three times, I could-" Dylan isn't sure how far he should go, but fuck it, he's already said this much. "I could fuckin' tell you to wear lipstick and blow me till I came on your face,  _babe_. Don't test me." Mitch shudders as Dylan bites his earlobe, whining a bit as he tugs, then pulls away.

" _Oh_ ," Mitch sighs shakily. "Yeah."

"Don't disappoint me, Marner." Mitch can barely contain a whimper as he ducks and licks from the base to the head in long, broad strokes, pushing Dylan's thighs apart to get in closer.

Dylan bites his lip as Mitch presses a palm to the front of his own boxers, the moderate pressure giving himself a brief respite. When Mitch pulls back to look up to see how Dylan's doing, Dylan makes a frustrated noise and knees Mitch in the side. _Of fucking_ course _I'm fine, Mitch, you have your fucking_ mouth _on my literal_ dick.

"Patience, geez," Mitch mutters, but before Dylan can comment, Mitch sinks his mouth down over Dylan's cock, going as far down as he can and stroking the rest with his free hand. Dylan sighs shakily with pleasure, letting Mitch establish a rhythm before he pushes up into it with minute thrusts.

"You're so good for me," he praises when Mitch pulls off to breathe, coughing a little. His cheeks are splotchy, and Dylan presses the back of his hand to the left side of Mitch's face, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. Mitch leans into it, eyelashes fluttering, and Dylan can't even take how beautiful he is. "You're so fucking good."

"'Course I am," Mitch returns, moving away from Dylan's hand and ruining the mood he had been trying to set. Dylan doesn't even care, more focused on the way Mitch's swollen lips part as he runs a thumb up the slope of Mitch's neck. He gently presses the pads of two fingers to Mitch's lower lip, and Mitch opens wider, tongue twisting around them as Dylan gasps involuntarily.

He nods to himself, pushing Mitch down again, his hand moving to make a fist on his thigh. This time, Mitch goes willingly the first time around, bobbing his head and moving his hand in perfect synchronization, every now and then pulling back to tongue over the head and make Dylan full-body shiver. The sight is something straight out of his best wet dreams, and he's just glad he gets to capitalize on something he'd once thought was an impossibility.

Dylan's fingers slide back into Mitch's hair and tighten when he makes to pull off. "Little more," he says, and Mitch's eyes squeeze shut as he readjusts himself and just swallows as much of Dylan as he can. _Fuck_ , that's not what Dylan meant by more - but he's sure as hell isn't complaining. He gasps and tugs hard on Mitch's soft brown hair, and Mitch moans around his cock. Dylan is _not_ going to last like this.

"You gonna fuck me?" Mitch rasps when he pulls off, looking like he'd just eaten an entire box of very red, very delicious cherry popsicles. His hot breath fans across Dylan's chest and over his hard cock, shining with precome and Mitch's spit in the low light.

Dylan shifts as he replies, "Maybe." Mitch huffs and tugs Dylan's boxers down to his knees, unceremoniously biting the inside of his thigh. "Ow, what the hell?"

"Fuck me," Mitch insists, and Dylan rolls his eyes.

"If this is romance, threesome bondage porn is the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Dylan says dryly, nudging Mitch with his foot.

"Nice to know that you've seen that before," Mitch says, and Dylan flushes. _Fuck_.

"Hey, I've seen your fucked up search history, but we should totally fuck now and talk later," Dylan answers in one breath, and Mitch's smile widens as he puts aside the jab.

"That's the spirit, babe." He pats Dylan's thigh and climbs off him, presumably to retrieve the condoms and lube.

He does, to Dylan's satisfaction, stripping out of his underwear and kicking it off to the side. Before Dylan can speak, however, Mitch sets the items on the side table and shoves Dylan back down from where he'd started to sit up. "Hey, I was gonna-" Dylan starts, but he never gets it out.

"Wanna try something?" Mitch asks in his raspy voice, and Dylan immediately forgets about everything else he could possibly be thinking about. That voice has a bit of an effect on him. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and it might be weird, but I-" Jesus, Dylan has never, _ever_ been able to deny him anything when he sounds like that.

"Yeah, yes, whatever you want." Mitch laughs, cupping Dylan's jaw in one hand and stroking his thumb along it.

"You're so easy you'll do whatever I say?" He asks with amusement. "When did this happen?" Dylan huffs and frowns, mumbling,

"'M not easy."

"No, just hot for this," Mitch corrects gleefully, gesturing to himself. Dylan knows Mitch is right - but where's the satisfaction in telling Mitch he's actually right?

"What are we gonna do?" Dylan says, failing to affect boredom. "We don't have all night, you know." So much for Dylan deciding how their night was to be played out.

"We have all week, Mr. I Can't Decide If I'm Pissed Or Horny," Mitch grins, pinching one of the hickeys on Dylan's neck. He traces Dylan's ear again, this time with his fingernail, and Dylan has to clench his jaw to prevent from making a pained noise. "I can take my time if I want to."

"Like _you're_ the patient one," Dylan retorts, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around Mitch's cock in a grip just the wrong side of too hard. Mitch gasps and bucks into his hand, and Dylan smirks victoriously.

"Neither are you," Mitch says. He squirms out of Dylan's grip and grabs the lube, squeezing out way too much as he slicks up three fingers.

"But I thought-" Dylan nearly swallows his tongue as Mitch leans forward and slides two fingers straight into himself, other arm shaking as he holds himself up with a hand on Dylan's chest. "Holy shit, Marns, where - _fuck_."

Mitch grins, eyes half-lidded as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. He looks like he did the first time Dylan put him on his back and fucked him, blissful and smug. Dylan doesn't ever let him mention the fact that he had to finish Mitch off with a quick blowie, having come in Mitch within five minutes. The second Mitch hints at it (it's been more than once - fuck, it's been an embarrassingly lot of times that Dylan's come first), Dylan reminds Mitch of the time he was drunk and cried on the kitchen floor because Dylan wouldn't grope him in the middle of a group of their friends.

"Taught myself," Mitch answers, and he sounds wrecked. By Dylan's cock. In his mouth. Because Dylan told him to.

Dylan exhales all in a rush, wishing he could see the ease with which Mitch opens himself. "Fuck, that's hot," he murmurs, rubbing a hand along Mitch's side and making him shiver. Dylan always knew Mitch had good hands, but he never knew they were _this_ kind of good. By the look of it, Mitch could probably get himself off without Dylan touching him at all. Not that Dylan would enjoy it as much as fucking, but he'd enjoy it enough to get himself off to.

Mitch groans loudly as he slides a third finger in, knees sliding farther apart, and Dylan can't take it any longer. "Move, I wanna see," he says, grabbing Mitch's arms and forcing him down on hands and knees - well, just the one hand. "C'mon, baby, show me," Dylan adds, and Mitch whines as Dylan settles on his heels behind him, running his hands over the pale curve of Mitch's ass. "Show me how you fuck yourself."

Dylan doesn't get talkative often, but damn, is this a sight to see. Talk about exhibitionism.

"Shit," Mitch croaks, voice cracking as he slides his hand back again. Dylan bites his lip as he sees the way Mitch opens so easily for his fingers, rubbing his thumb over Mitch's rim just to see him jerk forward and moan.

"When was the last time you did this?" He asks quietly, and Mitch whines in what could be embarrassment and lets his head fall between his shoulders.

"I, um. Yesterday, when I - heard when your flight - heard when it took off and wanted to get, um, ready for you," he says, voice cracking and hiccuping as he wavers toward guilt. "I couldn't wait, I-"

"Don't be fucking sorry about it," Dylan says immediately, using both hands to massage Mitch's ass. It's originally intended to relax Mitch, but it's probably one of the things that'd rile him up the most at this point. Dylan eventually leaves all that thought behind and squeezes Mitch's ass just for the fun of it. If it's there, why not touch? "It's hot."

"Yeah?" Mitch's breath comes out in unsteady huffs as he seeks out praise.

"Fuck yeah." Dylan kisses the base of his spine, then a little lower, then right above Mitch's wet, shiny fingers. "Want me to-" He starts, and Mitch immediately pulls his hand back towards his chest and tilts his ass toward Dylan's face. _Oh_.

Dylan takes the hint and trails two fingers in slow circles around Mitch's rim until he's complaining loudly about Dylan taking too long. And Mitch says he's patient.

When Dylan finally - "fucking _finally_ , you asshole," Mitch whines in frustration - lubes them up and slides them in, Mitch breathes out loudly in relief and rocks back onto them. _God_ , Mitch is so fucking pretty. He almost says it out loud, barely catching himself as Mitch looks back at him with those pleading eyes, damp and gorgeous and so, so beautifully blue, like a cloudless summer day.

When Dylan was younger, he remembers his mother scolding some Chris Brown song for saying "pretty boy". "Boys aren't _pretty_ , that's just rude," she muttered to herself, hands clenched on the wheel. "Dylan, don't you _ever_ say that to anyone." He nodded, drifting off into a land where the worst thing anyone could be called was a pretty boy.

But really. No matter what his mom or anyone else says, Mitch is fucking _pretty_. The prettiest.

"Hold yourself open," Dylan says firmly, and Mitch whimpers but does as he's told, cheek smushed against the pillow while his fingers spread himself so his lube-slick hole is visible to Dylan. He still can't believe Mitch can listen like this, especially after how he'd acted mere minutes earlier.

Mitch gasps sharply as Dylan pulls out his fingers and runs one right past his hole, rubbing at his balls and gently rolling them. If they're there, why not touch? (This rule applies to nearly everything Dylan and Mitch do, and it's turned out pretty damn well for them.)

Dylan knows Mitch's hands would be fisting in the sheets underneath him if they weren't so preoccupied. As it is, either sight would turn him on just as much. Dylan pushes in three fingers next and sucks in a sharp breath as Mitch's body just - lets him. "Want your - fuck, _please_."

"Want what?" Dylan asks, slowing the scissoring thrusts.

"You know," Mitch says, but that's not good enough, especially since Dylan does _not,_  in fact, know what specifically he wants. "Please, Dyls, I _want_ -"

Dylan wants to hear him say it. Wants to know that Mitch wants him, needs him too, maybe.

Mitch finally tells him, all in a desperate rush. "Baby, please - your mouth on me, _please_." The rush of arousal hits Dylan like a truck as a picture immediately pops in his head, and he blinks in shock as he grips his cock around the base to steady himself.

"I - yeah, fuck, yeah," he says, scooting his knees back so his face is level with Mitch's ass. He wipes his fingers on the covers, ignoring Mitch's protesting noise before he leans in to lick over, then dip his tongue into Mitch's hole.

Mitch's knees spread even farther apart on instinct as Dylan deliciously twists his tongue inside him. " _Fuck_!" He cries out, and Dylan holds his hip with one hand to keep him from pushing too far back on Dylan's mouth.

"You're okay," Dylan says soothingly as Mitch whines faintly, pushing two fingers inside Mitch and spreading them, shoving his tongue between them to hear Mitch yell as his fingers clench the meat of his own ass even harder. He alternates between licking inside and sucking at the rim, relishing in Mitch's constant breathy moans, glad that they're alone in the house.

Dylan wonders to himself if Mitch could come like this without a hand on his dick. He wonders if Mitch likes it enough that - Mitch moans probably loud enough to wake the neighbors, if they're sleeping, and Dylan's thought process shifts to _fuck, yes_. He thrusts his tongue in and out to hear Mitch's noises, jaw beginning to ache as Mitch's fingers repeatedly tense and relax on the soon-to-be bruised flesh of his ass.

All of a sudden, Dylan's phone rings, and Mitch says immediately, "Don't you fucking _dare_." He kicks the mattress as Dylan pulls back, making various noises of disapproval, Dylan ignoring all of them. "What the fuck?" Mitch whines, but Dylan's already reaching over to shut off Shakira singing about her always truthful hips. He never really understood the song, and because Connor's purely awful dancing skills are just that bad, he thought it would be funny to change it from an old-fashioned telephone to, well. Someone singing about dancing far better than he or Connor ever could.

"It's Davo," he says casually, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

"I don't give a fuck, I'm more important," he insists, rolling over and reaching for Dylan. "I'm not even chirping you about that song, come _on_." Dylan raises an eyebrow, clean finger hovering over the "answer call" button, and Mitch narrows his eyes. "You're never getting another piece of this ass if you don't put that fucking thing down right fucking now, oh my god, Dylan fucking Strome."

Dylan laughs, "Needy much?" He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb, crawling back over to Mitch to plant a deep kiss on his puffy red mouth.

"You almost chose Davo," Mitch giggles, as if he knows for sure he's Dylan's number one priority, running his hands over Dylan's pecs, then up to grip his shoulders. "I wanna ride you."

Okay. He's found _that_ voice again.

Dylan's brain freezes up at those two sentences so close to each other, only thinking "Davo" and "ride you". _Fuck_.

Thing is, Dylan's kind of had a mini thing for Connor ever since their first year together at Erie - hey, he recognizes the moments when he meets people that'll grow up to be beautiful - but Connor's straight as. Well. Not a ruler, (since Dylan can call technically compare himself to a ruler and no one will know it's one of those opaque bendy ones everyone hits each other with in middle school) but definitely fucking straight.

That doesn't stop Dylan's sick fantasies, even when he's lying in bed with Mitch. It makes him feel guilty as hell, and maybe even traitorous, but he doesn't know how to make them stop.

Dylan just - he wants to have Connor just once; not so he can say that he slept with The Connor McDavid, Hockey Jesus and savior of the NHL, and it was absolutely perfect in every way.

He wants to be able to say, if anyone ever asks, that he did sleep with Connor, his best and closest friend who also plays hockey, and they had a helluva time figuring stuff out along the way, even if it didn't turn out quite the way movies tend to show it. He wants one night with the person who knows more about him than anyone else, and who would know exactly how to treat and touch and love him.

That person is now Mitch, too. Should always and only be Mitch.

He'll get over his Connor-thing soon enough.

"Um, Dyls? Hello-o, your number one hot boyfriend is waiting to be fucked," Mitch says from below him, stroking himself, and Dylan blinks and looks over at his phone. _Missed Call [3] from Davoooo_. "What, you wanted to answer the phone that bad?"

Dylan rolls off him, falling onto his back as their shoulders press against each other. Mitch stretches his legs out on the bed, crossing them at the ankles and staring at the ceiling, clearly unashamed of his obviously hard cock as he moves his hand faster. Dylan secretly admires his lack of self-consciousness.

"No," he chokes out. "No. It's nothing."

"Wait," Mitch says, and Dylan waits for the inevitable. "Don't tell me." Dylan would never - could never. And now he's about to lose- "Actually, do tell me, I wanna get fucked sometime today."

"It's nothing," Dylan repeats, face going even redder, and Mitch - somehow, without losing his minimal patience - laughs, a bit strained. "I swear."

"So wait, lemme - you're into Davo?"

"Uhm?" Dylan says, voice going awkwardly high-pitched as he tries to think of a proper response. "No, I don't wanna - no, it's his-" A dirty grin turns Mitch's mouth upward as he pulls his hand back to lick off the precome, and a neuron short-circuits in Dylan's brain as he stops his nonsensical ramblings.

"So my idea _would_ work," Mitch says, half to himself before he straddles Dylan's hips with a condom and lube in hand, knees nudging at his sides.

What idea in the _world_  would-

"You wanna fuck Davo, don't you?" Mitch asks instead, and Dylan gasps as his dick jerks under Mitch's thighs. Traitor. "Yeah? Bet he has a nice ass, it'd look good in your big fucking hands, eh?"

Dylan is going out of his mind already, eyes squeezing shut as he pictures grabbing onto Connor and holding him tight and never letting him go, those huge doe eyes watching his every move. Every touch, every kiss, every stroke, every sigh, every tear - he'd watch everything, attentive as always.

Dylan sighs at the mental image, and Mitch smirks from above him. "How could you _not_ have the hots for him, honestly?" He says, and Dylan is confused as to why Mitch is encouraging this. "It's so fucking obvious how you guys are with each other."

"No, it's just-" Dylan can't explain it in a way that makes sense. "It's not - no, it's not like that, you know? I just wanna-"

"You wanna fuck him," Mitch finishes, repeating himself. "Yeah, got that already." Dylan wonders how Mitch went from willing to trade his life away for a quick 'n' good fuck to smugly pressing Dylan about his weird sexual attraction to Connor. Dylan doesn't  _understand_. "You wanna fuck Davo; the Hockey Jesus; Mr. Captain Canada-"

"Connor," Dylan gasps out, eyes snapping open. "It's - he's Connor." Mitch's smirk, somehow, gets even wider, and he slides the condom onto Dylan's cock unexpectedly just to hear him whine at the barely-there sensation.

"Can you imagine Connor here instead of me?" Mitch asks, and Dylan stares at him in disbelief. "I'm not mad, it's-" He takes in a shuddery breath, and that's when Dylan sees how on edge Mitch really is. He'd almost forgotten that mere minutes ago, he was making Mitch beg with three fingers and a tongue in his ass. "It's - really fucking hot."

"Yeah?" Dylan rasps, and Mitch flits his tongue over his lips as he wraps a strong hand around Dylan's cock, pumping a few times to spread the lube before positioning himself over it. They both groan as the head slips in, Mitch not stopping until he's seated on Dylan's thighs. It's fucking - Dylan can hardly describe the feeling.

"Fuck," Mitch says, placing his hands on Dylan's abdomen before lifting himself off and pushing back down. It's immediately fucking amazing, because Mitch is amazing and he fits so well with Dylan that Dylan can't imagine doing it with anyone else ever in his life.

And then there's Connor. Shit.

"Pretend I'm - that I'm Connor," Mitch says after a few slow rolls of his hips downward.

"But-"

"I want it too," Mitch says; insists, even. "Just - he's tight as hell, never been fucked, Dyls - can you imagine?" Dylan holds Mitch's hips tight enough to bruise as he nods.

"Yeah, fuck, I - _shit,_ " he swears on a low groan, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord. He can see Connor perfectly like this, head tipped back as he lets out those soft, sweet moans Dylan knows he'd make during sex. He'd be so sweet, unlike Mitch, who can be a pain when things don't go his way - but Dylan thinks he could learn to enjoy both types, if Connor was any kind of available.

"Or maybe he'd fuck you," Mitch says, picking up the pace as he bites his lips. He's flushed red from his cheekbones down his chest, hair a mess from where Dylan had grabbed it. It's greatest thing he's ever seen, lips even more swollen from all the biting and kissing and sucking - Dylan feels on top of the world when he looks at Mitch. Mitch is doing this for him; for them - and what a power trip that is.

"You've seen his fucking dick - fuck, Stromer, I wanna have it, wanna feel-" Mitch says breathlessly. Dylan agrees with a moan before Mitch stops his bouncing, simply grinding his hips into Dylan's to try for a different angle. He curls his hands around Dylan's ribs, slowly rocking back to feel every inch.

Dylan is most certainly _not_ in the mood for anything slow, so he shifts Mitch a half inch back, thrusting up hard into him with knees propped up behind him, and Mitch lets out a high moan as his voice cracks embarrassingly. Dylan would tease him about it in any other situation, but right now it's the hottest fucking thing in the world. Not that he'll forget.

"There, yes, there - oh my god, _there_ -"

"Yeah?" Dylan says, Mitch falling forward with hair dropping in front of his face as his head tilts down.

"Yeah, fuck - you think-" He stutters out a curse as Dylan leans up to suck on his collarbone. "You think Connor could treat you - treat you as good as you treat me?" Dylan shudders and pushes up into Mitch again, momentarily losing his rhythm as his head falls back onto the pillow again. "You think he'd - ah - fuck you good with his pretty cock?"

"Yes, fuck," Dylan groans, wondering how in the world they got to talking about Connor - their Straight Best Friend, no less - during sex. It's so, so bad - no, it's _awful,_ and probably disgusting, too, but he couldn't give less of a damn, shit, or fuck. None at all.

"He'd be so good to you," Mitch pants, bright eyes blinking open to watch Dylan's face. "So fucking good, touching you all over with those fucking hands and opening you with his tongue." Dylan might die when he finally comes. Mitch hasn't been this talkative in forever, and it gets Dylan going every time, without fail.

"His hands, holy fuck, his _hands_ ," Mitch whispers reverently, mouth dropped open, and Dylan nods energetically. Anyone who'd watched one single game of Connor's (if they hadn't, they'd probably be in for a surprise of their life if they found themselves in bed with him) knows how good they are, knows that he's perfectly capable of doing practically anything he wants with them - and doing it perfectly. Dylan can only imagine.

"Perfect hands, god," Mitch continues, panting. "They'd be so good - and his perfect arms, perfect tongue, perfect cock, oh my god, that'd be so hot, I'd fucking come even if I couldn't touch, if you didn't touch me, I can't even-"

" _Mitch_ ," Dylan whines desperately, Mitch fucking himself even harder on Dylan's cock as he stutters out ideas hotter than the fucking sun.

"I'd wanna touch so bad though," Mitch continues, biting the inside of his cheek. "He'd say - he wouldn't let me. He'd open you so good, you'd do anything he said, he'd let you fuck my throat all you wanted, all I'd want - you'd-"

"Please, fuck," Dylan begs shamelessly. "Please, I _want_ -"

"We can't," Mitch breathes, and there's the unfortunate truth of it. Dylan forgets it just as fast as Mitch continues, "What if he got you close over and over, and he didn't let you come for forever, and he didn't let you touch yourself - what if you were tied up?"

Dylan loses his rhythm as the breath feels punched right out of his lungs. He'd mentioned it to Mitch once, four months ago over the phone while he was trying to get Mitch to come. They talked about it after, too, and they both admitted it'd be a point of interest. They still haven't gone through with their plan, but Dylan is here for the rest of the week. They have time.

"God, Dylan, what if I tied you up and he touched you - touched you everywhere, all over, but your cock and made you suck mine? Dyls - _fuck_ , he'd be so good at telling us what to do, I - shit, shit, what if - if he told you ride him while he ate my ass?"

"Mitch, oh my _god-_ " Dylan chokes out, and Mitch grinds down onto Dylan's cock one last time, warm and wet and tight and perfect. Dylan's face scrunches up and he comes harder than he ever has in his life, mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

Mitch moans loudly and desperately, but before Dylan can reach up to get him off, he comes nearly untouched in between their already-damp stomachs, nearly biting through his lip. "Oh my god, Dyls-"

"I know," Dylan breathes, Mitch falling limp against Dylan's chest and smearing his come everywhere. Dylan doesn't care, knowing he'll be unwilling to move for the next hour or so, and knowing that Mitch likes having Dylan inside him for as long as possible.

They haven't tried sleeping like that, but Dylan's been considering that, too. "I know." He adds after a moment, "You're so good."

Mitch just hums his assent, pressing back onto Dylan's soft cock half-heartedly. Dylan gasps, and Mitch chuckles. "So fucking hot I'm gonna die," he mumbles with a grin from where his face is pressed into Dylan's shoulder. "Die, with a capital D. A big D." He pauses meaningfully, looking up at Dylan for a second. "Big D for Davo."

Right. That...thing happened.

"Should we-" Dylan says, biting his lip. "Uh."

"Not now," Mitch sighs, happy but exhausted as he blindly reaches back and pulls a Leafs blanket over them. It does no real good to Dylan, seeing as he's already completely blanketed by Mitch's warm body, but he appreciates the thought. "I'm the top spoon." Dylan just smiles, for even if he wanted to move, he knows he wouldn't be able to. Mitch has the force of the koalas and octupi and every other remotely cuddle-loving animal on his side.

"I love you," he blurts, not regretting it even after Mitch pulls his head back to stare. He beams down at Dylan, who feels his heart swell with pride. Mitch is _his_ boy.

"I love you too."

And he loves Dylan right back. How crazy is that?

And who says Dylan needs Connor like that, anyway? His hormones? Best friends are the best things they could be.

• • •

Mitch is the sun, and Dylan's only one of many lucky planets orbiting around him. He might just be a little closer to Mitch than he should be, caught up in his glow and overly influenced by his sneaky, teasing ways, but there's never been a time when he's given less of a damn.

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of bondage, d/s, and a passing remark about feminization; and for two characters talking about having sex with a third while doing the deed, while said third character is straight and not present and completely unaware.
> 
> I may or may not edit this even more afterwards...can't decide.


End file.
